Requiem Aranea
by rdwest
Summary: Every person has a story to tell. For Chrollo his story was always about the Spider. Even from the very beginning. Story takes place 7 years from the start of the series? This is the story of how the Phantom Troupe was formed. It's rated M just in case.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hunter x Hunter, (which is apparently coming back this month, fam). Yoshihiro Togashi does.

* * *

 **One**

At some point in his life, Chrollo became fascinated with spiders. Maybe it was the way they hunted their prey that intrigued him, or maybe he just enjoyed watching them squirm as he crushed them under his hands, beneath the soles of his shoes. They gave a satisfying crunch when they died, at least some of them did. Others just sort of squished. And some made no noise at all, they just died.

Eventually, he graduated to crushing things a little bigger. _Things_ a little harder to catch and kill. Like mice and birds. And then something called his conscious kicked in, _or maybe it's called common sense,_ and he stopped killing animals for fun because there was really no point to it. Birds had some use, providing nice songs in the early morning, and mice were better off dying as food for some hungry snake or other animal, than for his amusement.

But he still found himself intrigued by spiders, years later.

Maybe it was their webs. How intricately woven together they were. How beautifully crafted they were. Webs were a work of art, and so few people appreciated true art.

Or maybe it was something else. Something unrelated to the beauty of a web that made him hold onto images of spiders well into his adulthood. He wasn't entirely sure, and he didn't care to think about the origins of his strange fascination. Rather preferred not to think at all. But no matter what he did, the image of the spider stuck with him. Everywhere he went he saws webs and people trapped on them like flies.

Even now as he stood looking over the trash of Meteor City he felt that he was looking at a giant spider web. All around him people were unaware, caught in the web of life and unable to free themselves. Like the fly caught in the web, they would eventually give up. Resigned to their fate, they would die like everything else. _Forgotten. Consumed._ It was sort of a tragically beautiful way to die in the sort of overdramatic manner Chrollo normally would've scoffed at, but for some reason found intriguing.

And Chrollo hosted no delusions of being outside of that web; he too was trapped and had been trapped for duration of his life, some seventeen or so years in all. And he was alright with that. One day he could be the one who wove the web. The one who trapped others.

 _But where to begin?_

He wasn't sure. Though he was sure that the pink-haired girl who hung around the edges of the junkyard was quite lovely to look at when she wasn't frowning, which had only been once in the twelve times he'd seen her. He tried to catch her name, but she was evasive, distant, and uninterested, and he hadn't yet worked up the courage to approach her fully. The she couldn't be blamed for. At times, he was sure others looked at him the same way. But the latter was on him/

So this night, he decided to approach her with the sort of confidence one might reserve for someone who was sure of himself. Chrollo wasn't sure of himself; he wasn't sure of anything.

And he was alright with that.

The girl leaned against a car decorated with peeling white paint that had dulled to a dirty yellow. The yellowing paint matched her tank top and dirty jeans. In her hands was a bit of string she twisted around her middle finger. _Intentional?_ He got the feeling it was. Or maybe it was some sort of subconscious way of warding anyone off.

The expression on her face remained blank as he drew near to her. "I've seen you around," he said. "I'm Chrollo."

She stared at him blankly. "That's nice."

"Not much of a talker?"

"Not one who likes being interrupted." She sat back against the hood of the car.

"From the busy task of subtly giving passerbys the middle finger?" he asked

The corners of her mouth twitched slightly. "Machi."

 _A nice name._ "Pleasure to meet you."

She gave him another look. "You too, I guess. You from around here?"

"Aren't we all?"

"I guess. I've never seen you here before." She looked at her fingers.

"I'm usually around." He shrugged, trying to appear both interested and uninterested in the way she kept twirling the thread around her finger. The fact that he'd never seen him was mostly intentional. He'd gone out of his way to avoid being caught staring at her.

"This place sucks," she replied. Though it was hard to tell if she was referring to the junkyard, of where she lived in general.

"I can agree with that sentiment." He shoved a hand in his jean pocket unconsciously and took a step towards her. "Have you ever thought about leaving?"

"Are you trying to play therapist?"

"Just a question."

She shot him a look that turned into a scowl. "We just met. I don't want to talk to you."

"You're oddly blunt." He smirked. "How about quid pro quo."

"What?" Her frown deepened.

"Something for something. Ask me anything and I'll answer," he said.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Will you answer truthfully?"

"Probably not," he replied. "Depends on what you ask though."

She rolled her eyes. "I just asked you."

He blinked. _Hm._ _That was a good one_. "You got me. You ever consider leaving?"

She blinked, her eyes darting back down to her fingers. "Sometimes. Maybe, but then I think what's the point? It's not like I have anywhere to go and I've never been out of the city."

"That's no reason to stay," he replied. But then he had to wonder why he was still here himself if it was no reason to stay.

"I guess. What's your reason?"

"It's comfortable."

"Say what?" She gave him another look, this one slightly curious.

"Being here. It's familiar." He shrugged slightly. "Leaving would mean discomfort. I like being comfortable."

She shook her head and unraveled the string from her finger. "One way to put it I guess. You ever plan on taking off?"

"I don't like making plans," he said though he immediately regretted it.

She stood up and brushed the tousled pink bangs out of her eyes. Balling the string up, she shoved it in her pocket. "I'll see you around, I guess."

"Sure." He watched her saunter off, slowly, before turning his eyes back to the junkyard. _Smooth._ There was a reason he generally avoided making friends, particularly of the female persuasion. Friendships in general were a waste of time, and relationships were even a greater waste. _Distractions._ A relationship would only distract him. _But from what?_ It wasn't like he was doing something, anything really. And while there were quite a few things he could do, most of them were uninteresting, or required more than just himself to accomplish.

The image of a spider appeared in his head again, but this time it came with a thought. An idea. It took him a few minutes of staring at the dark sky before that image became clear in his mind. But he brushed that idea aside for the time being, resolved instead to do something less time-consuming, something that he could accomplish tomorrow even.

Machi came to the junkyard most every night, or at least she had the last twelve nights. And tomorrow night, he would ask her out. Or rather, he'd ask her to help him steal something.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

Chrollo knocked on his apartment door twice before pushing it open. Reason he had taken to knocking was because his roommates, Franklin and Feitan, thought it was the best way to _respect each other's boundaries,_ or something another. It was mostly Feitan; the man was always doing strange things. A few knocks was apparently enough warning for him to move himself to his room, where he could continue doing whatever thing had caught his attention for the day.

Chrollo wasn't overly found of his roommates, because he wasn't fond of having roommates in general, but few months ago he'd gone looking for some and found two of them. Franklin had been thrown out by his old roommates for shooting holes through his wall with stolen weapons _apparently_. Feitan had been living on the streets, though why and for what reason the short man had yet to divulge. He mostly kept to himself. But not in the sort of way that made Chrollo want to get to know the short man. Just in a way that made him want to study him from time to time.

Franklin sat on the couch in their small living room, staring out the dirty window with a grim look. His giant frame nearly dwarfed the tiny piece of furniture. "Hey," he said.

"Hey." Chrollo stepped into the room and looked around. _This place needs a good cleaning._

"I discovered a potential fourth roommate."

"That's nice. When did we start looking for a fourth roommate?"

"You mentioned some time ago it was a good idea. Since I started needing the extra money and all," the big man replied.

"Did I?" While he didn't recall mentioning that, it was likely that he had at some point.

Franklin nodded. "His name is Uvogin. Lives close to here. Apparently his home's owner doesn't like heavy drinkers."

"He'll fit in fine." He glanced around the small room again. _I'm never here anyway._ "Is our potential fourth roommate free now?"

"Probably." Franklin rose off the couch. "I don't know if you'll like him though."

"Likability hardly matters to me." He spun around and went back out the door. The sun was beginning to set and the cool night's air welcomed him. He thought of Machi then, wondering if she was twisting thread around her middle finger right now like she had been last night.

* * *

Uvogin lived on a dead end. Chrollo navigated past broken appliances and buckets of trash to the house at the end of the street. Franklin knocked on the door. The scent of alcohol was thick in the air and _it's barely eight._ The door swung open revealing a large, red-faced man, hands on his hips. His frown transformed into a smile when he saw Franklin though and to perhaps both of their surprises, he swooped the big man up into a large hug

"Hey, hey, hey!" Uvogin grinned. "Looks like you brought friends!" He dropped Franklin, who took several exaggerated steps backwards, red-faced.

 _He seems nice._ "Chrollo," he said.

"Uvogin. Nice to meet you, pal." He stuck out his hand, nearly hitting Chrollo in the face. "Sorry 'bout that, buddy."

"No problem." He shook it. "Looking for a place to stay?"

"Ya this bastard son-of-a bitch doesn't like my beer. Ya ever heard of a home's owner who doesn't like beer?" Uvogin said as if it were the most ridiculous thing in the world.

 _I most certainly have._ "We have an extra room. Doesn't matter how you come up with the money for it, so long as you have it." Chrollo himself acquired his funds through dubious means, so he wasn't one to judge.

"And you're in control of—" Uvogin hiccupped. He leaned close to his face. "—that money?"

Chrollo nodded. "I suppose I am."

"Alright. You have pretty trustworthy eyes. When can I move in?"

"Whenever. Room's ready now."

"Awesome!" He threw his fists into the air. "I'll probably see you guys tomorrow then, or maybe tonight. I gotta take a piss either way."

"Do you know where we live?" Chrollo pulled a pen out of his pocket and a small piece of paper. He scribbled down his address and handed it to him. "We don't use keys or locks or anything like that so just walk in. Feitan is our other roommate."

"Oh shit that's not far from here. Great, it's not far from Gunter either. He sells the cheapest alcohol, fyi. Good shit too." He reached over and slapped Chrollo's back. Hard. "I'll see you soon, buddy!" Uvogin turned around and re-entered the house. The door rattled when he shut it, the ground itself shook in fact.

"Seems interesting," Chrollo said, heading back down the street.

"He needed a place to stay. I offered," Franklin replied.

"Not criticism, just an observation," he assured him. "I might be leaving anyway."

The man stopped dead in his tracks. "You? Leaving where?"

"Thinking of travelling a bit." Which wasn't exactly the truth. His motivation for leaving had nothing to do with travel.

Franklin gave him a look and shook his head.

"Come with me," he said. A thought popped into his head again, but he pushed it away.

Franklin stepped around a bucket of old newspapers. Chrollo caught the title on one of them: _Homeless Man Falsely Convicted of Murder Proven Innocent_. He swiped the paper up and read the article while Franklin walked on.

* * *

Machi stood out like a flower amidst the piles of trash surrounding her in the most literal of senses. It was almost poetic actually, the way her rosy hair stood out among the piles of old trash. He'd yet to figure out just why she hung around this place in particular, but he was very glad that she did. And more glad that he hadn't scared her off. Yet.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey." She was sitting on the hood of an old car. Not the same one as last night either, though he wasn't sure why that detail seemed important.

"No string?" he asked

She shrugged.

"You knit?" He hopped up onto the car to sit beside her. "Is that why you're always threading your fingers?"

"You could say that," she replied.

"Should I keep guessing?" He smiled.

She gave him a look.

"You stitch then?" he said.

"Getting warmer."

He sucked in his breath. "I like mysteries, so I'll guess again some other time."

Her blank expression didn't change. _Not an easy girl to talk to._ "Live close to here?" he asked.

"Sort of, but I like to walk. You?" she said.

"Same." He pointed to her left. "If you squint really hard you can sort of see where I live in through the smog."

She glanced to her left, then rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right. You can't see anything through that crap."

"Not from here, but I know a place. You can see everything from up there." _And maybe I could take you sometime._ Another time.

"Is it your bedroom?" Her eyebrows went up.

He smirked. "So what do you do for fun, Machi?"

She averted her gaze. "Nothing really. Hang out here I guess. You?"

"I have two roommates."

"Two? That's a lot."

"I'll have three soon."

The corners of her mouth twitched slightly. "I have one roommate. She's pretty nice, only she's older than me, so it's kind of weird. I just got a place last month, finally. It took forever for my application to go through and I still didn't have enough to pay rent, so I had to apply for an extension."

"You don't look old enough to have roommates." A bad response considering he'd finally gotten her to say more than three words.

"Neither to do you," she replied.

"I'm seventeen. Give or take a year, or ten."

She shook her head and sat her hands on her lap. "So you have two roommates for fun?" Machi said.

"I like to steal things. Sometimes I sell them, but usually I just give them away," he replied.

"Like what?"

He shrugged, not sure if he should tell her the entire truth. He didn't know Machi, though in some ways he felt like he did. He felt that way with most anyone he encountered though, even the people he didn't like. "Whatever I can get my hands on."

"Well what's the point of stealing?"

"Fun? I'll take you with me sometime." _Like tonight._ But tonight didn't seem like the best time to ask her. Something about her expression, a mixture of disinterest and annoyance, told him to wait.

"Okay." She looked at the dark sky for a few seconds, then slid off the hood of the car. "I gotta go."

"Where to?"

"Home. My roommate's kind of…protective? She doesn't like me being out past a certain hour." Machi looked up at him hopefully. "You can come meet her if you want."

"Do you normally invite strange men to your home?" His feet hit the sandy ground.

"Sometimes," she replied, with just a small hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"Sure." Though surprised, following her came easy. Her home wasn't far from his, which excited him for some reason he didn't understand. And on the way there, she explained that _no,_ she didn't normally invite people over to her house unless she got a good feeling about them. Machi was unable to describe what that meant however, so Chrollo filed that away for something to think about later. She lived on the thirteenth floor of a building and she unlocked the door with a key.

A blonde-haired woman draped across a large, faded yellow couch regarded him with suspicion as he stepped inside. He supposed it was a bit odd, him walking in like this, so he put on a disarming smile.

Machi cleared her throat. "Pakunoda, this is Chrollo...?"

"Lucilfer." He crossed the room and stuck out his hand.

"Nice to meet you," Pakunoda replied taking it. Her handshake was tight and she didn't move from her spot on the couch.

"He's a friend," Machi said, turning towards him. "Lucilfer?"

"Are you?" She still hadn't let go of his hand.

"Just a friend," he assured her.

The woman's grip loosened, and he retrieved his hand and stepped away from the couch. The room was spacious and clean, though sparsely decorated.

"Anyway, I just wanted to introduce you guys, so you know who I'm hanging out with," Machi said. "See ya later." She waved him outside and they made the long trek downstairs.

 _That was brief._ Not that he was complaining. Anything that gave him a clearer picture of Machi's world he would accept.

"We could use some decorations, I know," Machi said.

"Let's get some. I know a place."

"This late?" Her face twisted. "Alright. As long as no one gets hurt."

"They won't," he assured her.

* * *

The nameless store, if it could be called a store, he led Machi to was not one he frequented often. Mainly because the store was run by an older gentlemen, a swordsman of sorts, who owned a number of odd pieces, some furniture, and some artwork. Chrollo wasn't overly interested in taking any of his things. He mostly broke in to either sleep there, or admire the artwork. Only once did he actually take something, because the swordsman was fairly nice all things considered, and he didn't like stealing from his own kind too often.

"This is the place?" Machi asked. The nameless shop was a square made out of cement. It had one front door, two windows, and a door behind it that lead into a basement.

He nodded. "We'll go in through the basement."

"You've done this before?"

"Once or twice." He made his way to the back of the building slowly. He'd learned long ago that doing things quickly often drew suspicion. The calmer one seemed the likelier they were to be ignored by those around them.

"Window or door?" He asked.

"What?" Machi said.

"Your preferred method of breaking into this fine building here."

"Oh. Window's more exciting, right?" She said. Then her dull expression turned into a slight grimace. "But I don't know. This seems like a dumb idea. Maybe we should do this another night."

"It'll be fine." He moved over to the window. It was unlocked like it always was, but he made a show of cracking the glass with a pen. He made small cracks in several places and then gave the glass a firm hit with his elbow. It shattered, not as dramatically or loudly as he'd hoped, a few shards falling to the floor. He cleared some of the glass around the edges.

"Ladies first," he said, stepping back.

"After you then."

"Funny." He climbed through the window landing on the other side. Machi came in after him. Mostly empty boxes filled the basement so they headed over to the stairwell that would take them upstairs into a storage room that led to the main part of the store.

"What did you do with that pen?" Machi whispered.

"Something," he replied.

"Seriously."

"I am being serious," he replied. "And be quiet."

"No one's supposed to be in here."

"Suppose is the key word there. There's always a chance that someone's upstairs." He walked up the steps. There was a door at the top. _Locked._

"Let me try." Machi slid past him. He stepped back and waited. The door popped open a few seconds later.

"What did you do?" he asked, trying not to frown.

"Something," she replied, pushing open the door slowly.

He followed her into a larger room stacked with empty crates and partially open cardboard boxes. The nameless store mostly housed oddities, but Chrollo often found books there, especially classics, and once he'd found a large skillet, the only thing he'd ever taken from here. But it had gone missing only a day or so after he'd brought it home and he'd never been able to deliver it to the person he had stolen it for.

Machi peered in one of the boxes, and something made her do a double take but she passed over it and went over to another. "So how'd you get the last name Lucilfer?" she asked, leaning over one of the boxes.

He gave a shrug. "My father was obsessed with _Paradise Lost_ , however."

"Paradise what?"

"Lost." He turned towards her. "It's about the Fall of Man, Adam and Eve from the Bible. In the poem, the fallen angel Lucifer is presented as a tragic figure, rather than a villain. My father loved that poem, became obsessed with the figure of Satan, and changed his last name to Lucilfer."

Her brows came together/ "Really?"

He turned and grinned at her. "No, I'm joking. I've no idea how I got that name. I never knew my parents."

The expression on her face told him she wasn't amused by his story. But then she picked up a picture frame and held it in front of her face. "So I can just take anything I want?"

"Yeah."

"Feels weird." She lowered the frame. "I'd rather buy it."

"Kind of defeats the point of stealing," he replied.

She gave him a look. A loud bump drew his attention to the door that led back down stairs. He walked over and peered down the stairs for a second. The sound of glass crunching beneath someone's feet reached his ears. He shut the door slowly and locked it.

"I thought you said no one was here," Machi said.

"Not what I said." He pulled his pen out of his pocket. A warm hand landed on his shoulder and he glanced to see the pink-haired girl standing just behind him.

"Let's just try sneaking out the front door instead. Seriously, I have a bad feeling about this," she said.

He opened his mouth, but the sincere look on her face convinced him it wasn't such a bad idea so he silently agreed. However, the door leading out of the storage room into the main part of the store was locked, which gave them one option. _Go see whoever is downstairs._


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

"Can't you break it?" Machi asked.

"Huh?"

She thrust her thumb towards the door. "That door, Casanova. Can you break it? It'll lead us to the front, right?"

 _Who's Casanova?_ He went over to the locked door, knelt down, and studied it for a moment. Sliding his pen out of his pocket, he glanced over his shoulder once, before shoving the pen into the key hole. The lock groaned, before the door popped open.

And on the other side stood the swordsman.

"Caught ya." He stood, arms crossed.

Chrollo straightened his back and hid the pen in his pocket. "How'd you get up here so fast?" He was actually genuinely surprised to see him right there, _unless it's someone else prowling around the basement._

The swordsman gave him a tight-lipped smile. "You really think a chat is appropriate right now?"

"Don't see why not." Chrollo resisted the urge to turn around and check on Machi. _She'll be fine_. He didn't mind getting caught himself, but he'd feel a little bad if Machi got in trouble with her roommate. "I'm Chrollo by the way. Chrollo Lucilfer."

The swordsman stared down at his outstretched hand, probably debating whether it was a trap or not. _Smart man._ Chrollo planned on breaking the man's hand if he shook it.

"We haven't stolen anything, so can you just let us go," he added, still offering his hand.

The swordsman gave him a look, then seemed to notice Machi behind him, for his thin brows came together.

"It's true," Machi held up her hands. "I don't have anything."

The swordsman glowered at her. "You know...I knew someone was breaking in and set up that alarm. Wait a few more minutes and the cops will come arrest you."

"Really?" Chrollo's eyebrows went up and he dropped his hand. If the cops actually showed up in the next few hours, he'd arrest himself. If there was one thing he could rely on, it was the unreliability of whatever infrastructure Meteor City had. He glanced around the room. The swordsman was only a few feet in front of him, within swinging distance at least, but he wasn't concerned for himself. They could go back the way they came, _maybe._ The back of the store partially opened into the desert, which would provide an easy way to get away if the cops really were coming. Behind the swordsman, led to the main part of the store including a front entrance. He did not doubt his ability to avoid the man, _but Machi..._ He was fairly certain she could take care of herself.

He took a step forward. "We didn't even take anything. Don't see why—" Something hard hit his back; Machi was standing just behind his shoulder now. He lowered his hands and tried to inconspicuously move them behind him. His fingers grazed along something metal and cold. "—why we should waste either of each other's time waiting for something that's not going to happen."

The swordsman lowered his sword slightly. "Another step, I'll gut you."

Chrollo lurched forward. The man raised his sword and swung it at him, but he dodged it and smashed the picture frame over the top of his head. The man went down like a sandbag,

Machi let out a chuckle. "First trespassing, now attempted murder?"

"You handed me the picture frame." He knelt down and checked the man's pulse. _Strong._ Standing up, he looked around. He took the sword, then a few other items from around the shop: a deck of cards, a ring, and a set of blocks, which he stuffed into a plastic bag he found. Machi grabbed an old looking vase, and they hurried downstairs and out the back window.

"I kind of feel bad," Machi said. But she was grinning like crazy as they trotted down the road, which was exactly what he wanted.

Nonetheless, Chrollo didn't agree, but saying that maybe wasn't the best way to her heart. _Am I trying to get to her heart?_ No, he wasn't. He just wanted to get to know her, maybe.

Machi walked him back to her place. "You want to come inside?"

"Nah, I should probably go home. New roommate is moving in soon." Though he wasn't exactly sure when.

"Oh."

For a moment, he thought her face might've fallen. Like her austere veneer cracked, but _I'm probably just imagining things._ "Catch you tomorrow?" he said.

"Sure. You selling those things?"

"Yeah." He decided to take his leave then, because if he lingered for too long here, he might end up overstaying his welcome. So he waved goodbye and headed home. Soon, he found himself mulling over a number of things, but mainly if he should tell anyone when he left. _If I leave._ If he left the city, he could find things of more value. Things he could sell for much more money than what he collected now.

But it wasn't really the money that interested him. If anything, he enjoyed the hunt most of all. Looking for things provided some excitement to what he found to be a rather dull life. But even then, life wasn't dull so much as it just wasn't exciting. He liked his life for the most part. But that didn't stop him from growing bored with it sometimes.

He pushed open the door to his apartment. Feitan was sitting on the living room floor, reading something that looked mildly interesting. Chrollo shut the door behind him and listened for Franklin.

"What that?" Feitan asked, not looking up from his book.

"Junk mostly. I'm going to sell it," Chrollo said, somewhat surprised the man was talking to him at all. He had nothing against Feitan. He just knew nothing about him. But that was mostly his fault for not trying to get to know him.

"Why?"

"It's my job." He dropped the things on the couch. "Wanna help?"

Feitan snorted.

"I'll split what I make with you."

"You get nothing for that shit," Feitan replied.

"I can sell this for more than what you'd made in a month," he said.

Feitan gave him a look, but there was a glimmer of interest in his eyes. _A challenge._

"Tomorrow, 5:00 am," Chrollo added.

"…Whatever."

* * *

That morning, Chrollo shoved the items in a bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed outside. It was four minutes til five, and as he conjured up his Skill Hunter, he figured Feitan wasn't coming. But the short man appeared after a few minutes, dressed in all black like always.

"You always reading that book," Feitan remarked. "What is it?"

"It's about plants," he replied, serious enough that he was pretty sure Feitan believed him. For a few seconds at lease.

The short man was quiet as they walked into town, but after a few attempts at conversation, Chrollo got the impression it had less to do with lack of desire to talk, and more to do with not knowing what to say, or how to say it. Feitan seemed to struggle to find the right words. _Well,_ not struggle so much as abandon the notion entirely and simply not reply.

Turning the ring between his left fingers, he walked over to a merchant setting up his cart in the middle of the road. He pretended to peruse his cart for a few moments, all the while, making sure to keep the ring on display. The merchant glanced at him periodically, but in particular his gaze kept going to the ring until at last he was staring at it continuously.

"Want to trade?" The merchant asked.

"I'll pass," Chrollo said. "You don't have anything worth trading. Worth buying really."

The merchant scoffed. "Really?"

Chrollo shot him a look, still twirling the ring carefully. Feitan was watching him curiously beside him. "Really," Chrollo assured him.

"How much?"

"It's not for sale," he replied.

"How much?"

"How much will you pay for it?"

"Five-thousand Jenny."

"Add two more zeros and I'll consider it," Chrollo replied.

"How do I know that's authentic?" The merchant's dark eyes flashed with suspicion.

"Aren't you the expert?" Chrollo asked.

"Fine. Done." The merchant fished out the money from somewhere and handed it to him. Chrollo gave him the ring, then sauntered off before the man realized he'd been duped. The ring wasn't authentic, and it probably wasn't even what the merchant thought it was. It was a skill he'd acquired, some time ago. And it was really only useful in this particular setting with certain types of people.

"Here." Chrollo shoved the money under the short man's nose.

"Half," Feitan said.

He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was following him. "Changed my mind. I'm keeping what I sell from the rest to myself."

Feitan looked at the money. "Skip rent?"

"Sure." He stuffed the money in his pocket. _Not enough for rent,_ but whatever. He'd hidden the sword under his jacket. And now he pulled it out, wondering who might be interested in something like this. It didn't look cheap, so he probably wouldn't have to use any tricks to convince someone to buy it.

"That's mine!" Feitan said, looking as surprised as Chrollo did.

"This is your sword?"

Feitan snatched it from him with surprising speed. "Yes…was stolen from me a while back." He twirled the object in his hand.

"Really?" Somehow, he doubted that. But the expression on the man's face was so deadly grim, he changed his mind. "Who stole it from you?

But Feitan only shook his head. "Thanks. I pay you later. By the way, how'd you do that?"

Chrollo shrugged.

"Nen?" Feitan asked. "What's your Nen?"

"You first."

Feitan opened his mouth, then shut it. He grinned slightly, or at least it looked like a grin. And Chrollo realized he wasn't so bad after all. He sold the other two items and they headed back home. He told Feitan the general gist of his skill: that his ability made whatever he had look like something that person was after. It was a rather specific Nen ability that was really only good on rare occasions, which made it practically useless. Chrollo limitations when using it were many, but mainly that he didn't know what the person desired and if he said the wrong thing, the spell would be broken.

Once hom, Feitan didn't run into his room like he normally did, but lingered awkwardly around him as Chrollo counted the sum of his spoils. Chrollo got the impression the short man wanted to say something, but he couldn't begin to surmise what it was. He divided the money into two envelopes, then he went back to the swordsman's shop and dropped one envelope in front of the door. _Hopefully nobody steals it._ Next, he found Machi where she always was. She waved him over excitedly when their eyes met.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Well…let's go on a date." It wasn't what he planned on asking her, not even close, but now seemed like as good a time as any.

She snorted. "What?"

"A date? Unless you're too young to know what that is." He grinned.

She shot him a look at that, but after a few seconds, she agreed. "But not tonight. I have stuff to do tonight."

"Tomorrow morning?"

"A date in the morning?" She frowned. "Okay. Uh I'm usually up around 8:00 or so. 9:00?"

"I'll pick you up at 9:00," he replied. Machi grinned at him, her fingers idly going up to her hair.

"Hey you!"

Chrollo spun around to see a large figure approaching them. _Looks familiar…_ but it took him a second to remember who it was. _Uvogin_. Albeit, he looked ill, or drunk, or some combination of both. Was sort of hard to tell if that was just how he normally looked, or if something was actually wrong with him. Uvogin staggered over a pile of old appliances, nearly tripping, but he righted himself and pointed his large fingers at him.

"You know him?" Machi said.

"My roommate. Sort of," Chrollo said. "What do you know about him?"

One of her eyebrows went up in what he could best describe as amusement, then she darted off like a tiger. Weaving through mountains of garbage until she was out of sight. He turned to the large problem stalking towards him. Even from a distance, the man reeked of alcohol and bloodlust.

"You!" Uvogin came right up to him. Drawing himself to his full height, he took a deep breath. "Fight me."


End file.
